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Space Case
Medical Bay - - Antarctica Ice Shelf Several operating tables are set in a row here, and long benches line the walls. On these benches are assorted tools and equipment used in repairing damaged Decepticons. The benches near the door are for patients waiting their turn for treatment. Scattered throughout the room are various repair droids, awaiting the arrival of more wounded to repair. The room gives you the perception of being immaculately clean, with not a single tool out of place. Your olfactory sensors pick up the faint odor of the cleansing solutions used to keep the room clean and sanitary. Contents: Harrow Harrow's Office Sign Brunt Poor, poor Blast Off. Harrow had sent some sizable tank orderlies to "escort" Blast Off to a sectioned off ward of the med bay. Whether or not he comes by choice or force is on him. The blue Seeker sits at a desk with her hands steepled, optics narrowed and blank datapad before her. Blast Off can be heard long before he is seen. "UNHAND ME AT ONCE!" His protests go unheeded, however, and the brown and purple Combaticon is shoved into med bay by the huge orderlies. He catches his balance, coming to a halt and brushing himself off with an affronted dignity... or at least as much dignity as he can muster. Blinking, he straightens and looks around, his optics coming to rest on Harrow. "Really! This is unacceptable!" He looks back towards the orderlies, then back to the seeker. "I would have come eventually.... at some point...." His voice trails off. "I don't think you would have, Blast Off," Harrow says coolly. "Have a seat on the chaise lounge there. We're going to delve into why you're so /terribly/ depressed." It's hard to really gauge her mood, as her expression remains neutral and her tone even. "Thank you," she tells the orderlies, who shuffle out snickering and lock the door. "Lets begin with an average day for you. You come out of recharge. What is the first thing you do? The first thing you think of?" Blast Off glares at Harrow. "I am NOT depressed. I am the picture of star-strewn satisfaction." The door locks behind him, and the shuttleformer glances back towards it nervously before coming to face Harrow again. He makes no move towards the chair, instead taking a step towards Harrow. "Why are you singling ME out for this.. this... travesty? There is nothing wrong with my mental health! If you want mental cases, you could probably take your pick from most of the Decepticon army! Slag, you could take your pick from most of my teammates, for that matter. Have you SEEN Vortex lately? ...Why you should feel the need to single out one of the finest warriors of the entire army I have NO idea!" He finishes with a haughty sniff, then adds, "And there IS no average day for me, because my days are extraordinary! Because *I* am extraordinary!" Harrow's optics flicker in a blink. Then she smirks. "Calm down. You aren't being singled out. The Decepticon Empire is brimming with psychopaths, but psychopaths are useful in war. They're also hopeless. Lost causes. You, however, aren't a lost cause. But your arrogance is stifling. Do you see yourself as arrogant?" Blast Off pauses for a moment, considering... "No. Not at all. I am merely realistic. I know my abilities and I do not practice false modesty. A Combaticon knows his skills and does not suffer fools lightly." A little calmer now, he puts on more of his usual aloof and aristocratic manner. "Though... we do tolerate Brawl, so I suppose even WE have a benevolent side." The shuttle glances over at the chair but still doesn't sit down. "Has your over-confidence gotten you in trouble at all? What about with Onslaught? How does he view you?" Harrow leans back in her seat and studies her fingertips before gesturing to the chaise. "Really, there's no need to be upset over a simple discussion. I'm not going to crack your head open. Sit down." Blast Off makes a scoffing snort and gestures a hand up in frustration. "There's that "over-confidence" teminology again! I do not understand why I keep hearing that. Haven't I proven myself often enough? Why do I need to be here again?" He shakes his head, looking off to the side. "So perhaps I got just a *fraction* bit carried away during that battle over Cybertron, when we defeated the "Coalition of the Brave" and the Autobot hooligans started shooting at us again- poorly, as usual. And perhaps I failed to notice just a *tiny* bit that I was the last Decepticon standing, and surrounded by Autofools... but you should have seen how TERRIBLY they were shooting that day, even for them! It was quite amusing to watch- and gloat!....... Well, at least it was... until Tailgate shot me with a stun gun and then... all of them could shoot me..." His voice trails off again. Blast Off blinks at the mention of Onslaught. There's a long uncomfortable pause. "...Onslaught values my skills! He knows I'm the fastest Combaticon, with simply magnificent shooting skills, otherwise I wouldn't be on his team, OBVIOUSLY." Pause again. "...He just doesn't ...say it, but I'm sure it is because he doesn't like to show favoritism! It would be unfair to the other Combaticons, after all. I'm certain he continually thanks the day I joined the team!... Despite the threats of shooting me." Blast Off nods to himself, as if trying to convince himself that is actually true, then slowly makes his way to the dreaded chair. He pauses again, then finally sits down, looking as dignified as possible and trying to ignore the fact that the chair is there for head cases. Harrow doesn't know whether to be amused or mildly saddened. She waits a moment after he sits, looking pleased. "It seems you needn't praise in the least. I imagine you don't strive for praise at all. Yet your rationlizing regarding Onslaught tells me you would not mind hearing it from him. If you're so brilliant, Blast Off, why aren't you the Combaticon leader? Why aren't you our Overlord? Do you think the Empire is poorly run? I'd venture to guess that you /like/ your low rank." She scribbles something on her datapad. You say, "Rationalizing? I'm hardly doing anything of the sort..." Blast Off appears to frown under the faceplate, but lets his protest fade as Harrow's quite accurate analysis leads to a question he hadn't really considered much before. He thinks a few moments, then answers honestly, "I don't need to be the Combaticon leader. Onslaught is a brilliant strategist, and while we may not always see optic to optic, he does an excellent job of leading us, while I derive my greatest pleasure in combat by sniping my enemies like the insignificant targets they are. The same goes for any leadership position- allow me to perform high-class, skilled tasks with speed and accuracy and I am quite happy. I do not have time to bother with, much less lead, the petty foibles of your average Decepticon riff-raff. I'd honestly be quite terribly BORED with the lot of them anyway." He looks especially disdainful. "I truly want to be alone, and when I am done with my job that is exactly what I do- I head off into space, or read quietly back at base... someplace I do not have to deal with idiots. They DRAIN me." He pauses again, considering something, then leans in towards Harrow. "This... IS all confidential, is it not?"" Harrow studies Blast Off closely. Combiners are a different breed to her. "Fair enough. Though it doesn't seem you're actually "happy" - as you said, you'd rather be alone. Why do you suppose that is? It may explain why you're so damn /unpleasant/ - and make no mistake - you ARE. I wonder what kind of response I'd if I asked your acquaintances how easy you are to work with." She chortles. "Medic's honor, nothing leaves this room unless the information you give me is a threat to the Empire." Blast Off snorts again at the "unpleasant" remark, but otherwise lets it slide. He surveys the room imperiously as he tries to think of what to say. He is, of course, actually quite lonely, but there's no way he's telling HER that. He doesn't tell anyone that. "Wanting friends" is hardly a valued Decepticon trait, after all, and is more likely to get you in trouble than anything else. He encountered numerous such hardships long, long ago when he still sought such a foolish thing. "I prefer to be alone so I do not have to deal with the petty problems of others. There are so few who can understand what it is like to be a space shuttle... we carry a certain responsibility with our incredible gifts. But people fear or deride what they do not understand, so I learned long ago not to bother with most of them. Most of the acquaintances you mention would just be jealous, anyway. Blitzwing keeps threatening to replace me as Bruticus' arm. ...*Obviously* jealous." He waves a hand dismissively, then tilts his head in thought. Leaning in towards Harrow, he gives her a slightly conspirational whisper, "Well, if this is confidential, then I.... might suggest you talk to Onslaught next. I think he has..." He looks around slightly nervously again and leans closer still. "...Anger management issues." Harrow continues to write things down on the small screen in very fancy Cybertronian. "Someone has foisted their problems upon you in the past. Perhaps many. Thus your aversion. You might try to ease up in that department - you may be surprised. I do not trust /any/ solitary Decepticon to his own thoughts for too long. He tends to drive himself mad." She lifts an optic ridge. "Well perhaps we can bring Onslaught in for our next session!" She stands, palms on her desk. "I think we've made some progress today. You're dismissed. Take your pills or the orderlies will have to make sure you take them. I'm sure you don't want that." Blast Off shifts uncomfortably while attempting to keep up the "aloof and aristocratic" front. He finally simply answers with, "...Perhaps." Then something else registers. He pauses again, processing the words just to make sure he heard them correctly, then stares at Harrow. "Our... NEXT session?!?!" There is a slight note of alarm in his voice despite his best efforts. "I showed up, we talked... and I feel MUCH better now. ...Really." Hopefully that sounded convincing. He begins to get out of his chair when the femme brings up those blasted pills. He falters a bit, standing back up, then casting another nervous glance towards the door where the orderlies were last seen. "Uh... no, no... that won't be...neccessary." Harrow smiles and gathers up her datapad, tucking it under her arm as she moves for the entrance. "Well I suppose we'll see. Maybe if your peers notice a change in your behavior we can call this off." She pinches his helm guard as she passes. "It wasn't /that/ awful was it?" Blast Off attempts to keep dignified and not betray the sheer, overwhelming, hopeless dismay welling up inside. There's a weak, "..But I LIKE myself just as I am..." that trails off like so many of his words today. Primus forbid what he might act like on these Pit-Forsaken pills he is being forced to take. PLEASE nothing undignified. "That... remains to be seen." Mustering his best haughty demeanor he strides quickly out of the office, glad to be free (so to speak) and hoping this will all be over soon.